


Most Treasured

by lily8007



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, Mother's Day, Talia is a good mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 13:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18801301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily8007/pseuds/lily8007
Summary: Talia may not love her life as an assassin - far from it - but she appreciates the gifts that life has brought to her. One in particular.





	Most Treasured

Little as Talia enjoyed assassin’s work, she had to admit being trained as such left her with many useful skills.  She moved with absolute silence down the shadowed corridor, her entire being focused on one door, and the occupant of the room behind it.  

The door was locked, but she held the key, and turned it smoothly.  The click of the tumblers slotting into place should have been muffled by the furnishings in the room, but still Talia waited in silence, counting slow and even breaths, making sure that the sound hadn’t disturbed the sleeper inside.  She lifted up on the handle as she opened it, to prevent even the slightest sound from the well-oiled hinges, and then closed the door just as slowly and carefully behind her.

Silence in the room, except for two sets of breath and the faint ticking of a clock that masked both.  Talia waited for her eyes to adjust; the corridor had a few lights widely spaced, but this room had none except the moonlight and starlight shining in through the high window.  She knew the floor plan well, and could have made her approach blindfolded. Still, she was in no rush. It was better to wait for sight.

A spacious room, clean white walls adorned with art, a dresser and desk and bookshelves along the perimeter, the bed opposite the door.  She glanced toward the desk and saw a sketch pad and pencils. Talia let herself be curious, and stepped silently across the bare wood floor and the richly-woven rug to look at the sketch in progress.

She dared not turn on a light, or turn a page, for fear of waking the sleeper.  The sketch in progress was a scene of horses running; not quite perfectly realistic, but the artist had captured the sense of them, their grace and power, in a few expressive lines.  Talia smiled, resting her fingertips on the blank part of the page for a moment. 

But she had business here, and the longer she dallied, the more likely the sleeper would sense her presence.  She turned toward the bed, studying the quiet form there. Sheets and blankets hid the details, but the slight body did not seem to have moved.  The face was not visible, just a thatch of dark hair on the pillow.

Talia crossed the room just as quietly as before, setting each footstep down ever so gently.  Only the whisper of her clothing could possibly betray her, and that sound was as quiet as her breath.  She reached the bedside and looked down at the sleeper. From this angle, finally, she could see his face.

Features still rounded with youth, eyes she knew to be a brilliant green closed in sleep, the thick dark lashes lying against a cheek paler than her own.  He was beautiful, though he did not like her to tell him so. At least he would still accept ‘handsome’, though to her mind that word would be more apt when he grew into the stubborn line of his jaw and the serious set of his brows. Adulthood would make this boy into a man who arrested the gaze of everyone he met.  

As it should be, for both of his parents were as striking, and while Damian had inherited his mother’s coloring and the shape of her eyes, Talia saw a great deal of Bruce in him as well.

Her studied silence was not because she would be unwelcome here.  Talia had been away doing her father’s work for two weeks, long enough that her heart pined for her son, and he would miss her just as much.  She hated to disturb his sleep, though. Morning was only a few hours away, and she would greet him at breakfast, hear everything he’d done and learned in her absence, and see his new sketches.  His instructors told her that he had mastered a new series of katas, too, and he would be eager to demonstrate that as well. Perhaps, giving that he was drawing horses, she could steal enough time to go riding, just the two of them.

Part of her resented the fact that she had to  _ make _ time for Damian.  In a perfect world, Talia could have devoted every waking hour to her son.  And would have, gladly. That was not to be, she had other responsibilities, and part of her duties were guiding the very much imperfect world toward a better future.  She was even more determined to bring about her father’s goals, for the sake of her child growing up in a better world than this one - even if she did differ with him over methodology.

She gave him all the time she could, and all of the love she had.  Talia smiled a little sadly, looking down as he slept. She had once believed she knew everything of love.  She loved Ra’s with a daughter’s endless devotion, and Bruce with a lover’s brilliant passion. But  _ Damian _ … Damian stirred her soul to unplumbed depths.  Talia would kill for her father, she would have died for Bruce, but for Damian she would remake the world itself, reorder the stars and heavens, defy death as her father did despite her horror of the Lazarus Pit, all for his sake.  No sacrifice was too great. And even the thought of someone trying to harm her beloved little boy was enough to rouse her maternal heart to protective savagery.

Once, a much younger Talia had found an injured kitten.  Cats prowled the compound, welcome for their assistance in dealing with rodents and other vermin, and most of them were quite tame if not precisely pets.  She had picked up the kitten intending to bring it to her father’s physicians, hoping that the poor little thing might be saved. It had cried out in fear as she lifted it, and all her attempts at soothing only made it cry louder.

The kitten’s mother had come running at the cries.  Her tail fluffed out like a bottle brush, she’d snarled and charged at Talia, paws dealing swift-clawed blows.  Talia, who had been perhaps twelve, and already capable of facing down a pack of village dogs or an ornery horse, found herself chased by an eight-pound ball of hissing, spitting, striking fury.  She’d been more indignant than afraid; the kitten had been treated and returned to its mother, and her own scratches disinfected. But at the time, she had not understood what would drive such a small creature to such bitter violence against an opponent who could have easily killed her.

Now she knew.

For Damian she would spend her life recklessly, flying in the face of any threat to him, no matter how long the odds.  He was  _ her son _ , her greatest joy, and just the sight of him asleep filled her with pride.  Talia longed to sit beside him, wake him gently, and talk softly through the night, just the two of them.  Perhaps curl up beside him as she’d done when he was smaller, letting him drift back to sleep and remembering the days when he’d been a part of her, how she’d rested her hand on the swelling curve of her belly and felt such wonder at the thought of him.

He needed his rest, though, and she resolved to leave his sleep undisturbed.  But the mother’s heart beating with such reckless love in her chest would not allow her to leave without so much as a kiss for her beloved boy.  

Talia bent down, brushing her hair out of the way so it wouldn’t tickle his cheek and wake him, meaning to kiss Damian’s unruly hair and then depart.

As she did so, she sensed movement.

Her training had been as rigorous as his, and her reflexes were as fast.  So Talia did not need to  _ think _ to respond.  She had stepped aside even as the bright blade flashed out from under the covers, and it missed her belly by inches.

Oh, he was so very much her child!  “Habibi, it’s me,” Talia chuckled as Damian raised his head, knife still in hand.

The angry expression on his face became consternation, then embarrassment.  “Ommi! I could have hurt you!”

“Then the fault would be mine, not yours,” she soothed, and did kiss his brow.  “I know better than to disturb a sleeping assassin, my son. It was foolish to think you had not noticed my arrival.”

Damian slipped the knife back beneath his pillow, and rubbed his eyes.  “I did not think you would come back for another two days.”

“I managed to shorten the trip, to see my favorite person in all the world that much sooner,” Talia told him.  He smiled at the praise, and she sat beside him, smoothing his tousled hair. “I am sorry to have startled you, albi.  I meant not to wake you, but since I have rudely done so, would you like me to stay?”

He wrapped small arms around her waist and hugged her tight.  “I wish you could stay  _ always _ .”

Talia hugged him back, love rising in her heart, fierce as the sun’s heat.  “I wish I could, too. Nothing would make me happier.”

Damian sighed as gustily as only a small boy could.  “You are here now, that is all that matters. Tell me all about where you’ve been this trip?”

“Of course,” Talia replied, knowing that he would likely fall asleep again in the telling.  That was just as well, they would have the morning together. And every moment in his company shone golden, for her.

Before beginning the tale, she could not help giving him another kiss, over which Damian grumbled - but did not pull away.  “I love you, so very much,” Talia told him.

“I love you too, Ommi,” Damian replied.  “Now tell me! I want to hear about your travels.”

Talia laughed at his demand, and indulged him.  


End file.
